Relapse
by Mindy35
Summary: Jack/Liz. It was the only way he could think of to stop the wedding.


Title: Relapse

Author: Mindy

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Tina's etc

For: hamnapkin

Prompt: wedding

Spoilers: "Hiatus"

Pairing: Jack/Liz

Summary: He always meant to tell her.

-x-x-x-x-

It was the only way he could think of to stop the wedding. Aside from the truth, of course. Which wasn't absolutely guaranteed to prevent Liz marrying another man.

He always meant to tell her, he always meant to come clean about how he felt towards her and had been feeling long before she even met Brett. A ridiculous man with a ridiculous name. It wasn't possible that she be linked eternally to a person named Brett, no matter how desperate she was. Somehow, though, he never quite got around to telling her that Brett wasn't 'The One' for her. There never seemed to be that perfect, undisturbed moment, a break in the conversation to fill with:_ 'I adore you, please don't marry him'._

Perhaps they'd become too stuck in their ways, the two of them. Perhaps, after all those years of her being right there for him to claim if he'd chosen to, he only wanted her now because it seemed that she was finally going to belong to someone else forever. Perhaps, what it really came down to was that, in matters of the heart, he was an unabashed coward.

One thing was for certain, he was more like his mother than any of them suspected. Years before, Colleen had tried to stop him from going on his honeymoon with Bianca by staging a heartattack. The woman had no scruples. And neither did he, it seemed. Not when it came to something he really wanted. Someone he truly needed, on such a basic, intrinsic level. Lucky for him, Colleen also had no qualms whatsoever about contacting Liz with the news that he was in the hospital. Even on her wedding day, Lemon still had her phone on and took the call. And within moments, his mother's natural melodrama had her fleeing City Hall to be by his side.

It wasn't so very difficult to fake a cardiac event. Not with Leo Spaceman as his personal physician, and not having already suffered one. The only thing Jack was nervous about was that the news be delivered before the 'I dos' had taken place. But lying in his hospital bed, and even heavily sedated to appear the part, he felt far guiltier than he'd expected he would.

He'd told himself that he was doing this for her good, as well as to buy himself some time. If he'd honestly thought Lemon would be happy with her intended, he never would've disturbed her wedding day. He would've sat silently by, watched her utter those binding words while she looked into another man's eyes and then sealed the bargain with a kiss. He could've done it. Maybe. He just didn't want her to go though with it without knowing all her options.

She's blurry when she walks through the door, an outline he now recognises instantly. He knows it's her, he doesn't have to ask. But the drugs must truly have set in because he can't totally see her until she's right there by his side, looking down at him with that soft, concerned expression he vaguely remembers from the first time his heart gave out. She's not in black, of course. The ivory dress she chose to be married in is plain and conservative, with tailored lines and a vintage air. Her hair is up, although her bangs still flop across her forehead like they usually do and a few tendrils are loose at the base of her neck.

She puts out a hand, curls it round his bare forearm.

"Hey," she murmurs softly, so softly that he longs to hear her speak like that to him more regularly: "How're you feeling?"

"Lemon…" he slurs, his control over his own tongue alot less than he thought: "I'm sorry, I…"

She shakes her head a little. "It's fine, Jack, it's completely fine." She gives him a reassuring smile, hand smoothing up and down his arm: "We'll do it another time."

His eyes feel heavy, they drift without him giving them permission and when they find her shape, they can't help roving up and down her a few times, languidly, a little sadly. "You look beautiful," he tells her without thinking twice about allowing the words to slip out. The expression on her face makes him wish he'd told her so more often -- all the other times he'd thought so but refrained from saying so. Her expression is fleeting though -- perhaps she dismisses his declaration as being drug-induced -- so he says the words again, making an effort to appear somewhat lucid.

"You look beautiful, Lemon."

"Thank you," she replies then lets out a breath: "I was worried about you, Jack, you had me scared."

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles, one hand reaching out of its own accord. He watches it, disembodied, approach her waist, that lovely curve that has always looked so enticing, but never seemed so totally touchable until this moment. His fingertips graze the material of her dress.

Liz captures his flailing hand in both of hers. "Brett's worried about you too," she goes on in her softer than soft tone: "And your Mom is outside. Do you want me to go get her?"

"No," he says, as sharply and suddenly as the drugs will allow. He blinks at her a few times, gripping her hand: "I just…want you."

"O-okay," she says. She gives a little laugh and pats his hand: "Sure. I'm here."

He smiles up at her, a little goofily probably. "Come closer," he mutters, tugging on her hand: "You're still blurry."

"That's not the drugs," she says: "that's actually the look I was going for."

Jack tugs again.

She sighs. "Um. Okay, wait a second…"

She lets go of his hand and lowers the safety barrier on the side of his bed. She glances behind at the door before hopping up onto the mattress beside him and making herself comfortable. While she's arranging herself on the edge, a little awkwardly, Jack's hand makes a play for her waist again, under the guise of assisting her. This time, it succeeds. She glances down at his palm resting on the dip of her ivory-clad body, but she doesn't remove it.

"Hmm," she muses to herself: "Looks like they've got you on the good stuff, huh?"

"Were you really worried, Lemon?" he asks her, causing her to instantly stop fidgeting.

She stalls, and he can see in her eyes some of the dread she must've felt. "Your Mom made it sound pretty serious, Jack."

He nods, glances down at his hand on her waist. "Would you let my hand stay there if it weren't so very serious?"

She snorts in surprise, looks at him askance. "Hm, I dunno. I guess we'll have to see."

"I'm fine," he assures her quietly.

She swallows, responding in an unsure whisper: "Yeah?"

"I promise," he says: "I'll be back on my feet and driving you crazy in no time."

Her shoulders drop, her face relaxes. "That is good to hear." She reaches out to punch his shoulder then seems to rethink the gesture, instead patting him a few times right over his perfectly healthy heart: "I don't know what I'd do without my buddy."

"I don't know what you'd do either," he admits sluggishly: "I fear you'd be lost without me."

She rolls her eyes then retorts wryly: "I could come up with a clever comeback to that but it's probably good for you to feel important and needed right now. Also…you're probably right."

"Of course I am."

She smiles at him, the deep affection in her eyes unhidden for once. "Hey," she murmurs after a moment: "since you're probably not going to remember any of this…do you mind if I give you a little hug? Or…a big one, maybe?"

Jack blinks at her then spreads his arms wide. Liz hesitates a moment before practically throwing herself into them. Her cheek is mashed against his chest, her arms pressed against his sides as he wraps her up in his arms. She pulls back quickly however, when she hears the heart monitor go wild.

"What's that?" she panics: "What'd I do?"

"Nothing," he replies: "It's fine."

"Yeah?" She eyes him anxiously: "You okay?"

"Perfectly alright," he murmurs, hands smoothing over her shoulders: "I promise you."

"Okay…" she sighs as she starts to ease herself back down onto him, relaxing in his hold.

There is a moment of silence when she's settled. He breathes deeply in an attempt to prevent the heart monitor from betraying him again. It still speeds a little, her effect on him uncontrollable. But apart from the thrill he gets at having her near, there is also a strange peace he feels in Lemon's presence, a comfort, a relief. He can feel her eyes tracking the constant progress of the tiny green blips on the screen as she lies half on top of him, her head tucked under his chin.

And Jack knows this is the moment.

If he were looking for a perfect, undisturbed moment, this has to be it. He has orchestrated this entire morning to get her here. He has manipulated her feelings for him and drugged himself into loquaciousness in order for them to be able to experience this moment of intimacy. Now is the time for him to come clean, now is the time for him to finally say the words he's been privately rehearsing for years. Now is the time for him to convince her, sedated or not, that 'The One' for her has been there the whole time. 'The One' for her is him -- and always has been.

Jack takes a breath. The words that come out, though, are: "I'm sorry about your honeymoon."

Her voice is muffled against him when she replies: "We're still going to go. I think."

His heart stops. Not literally, of course. The monitor keeps blipping under her watchful gaze. She stays where she is as his head pushes back into the pillow, his neck straining tight as he tries to suppress the tide of emotion brought on by such a simple, stupid sentence. Maybe it's the drugs in his system, but it feels like the worst thing he's ever heard in his life.

"What?" is all he can manage to say, his voice strangled in his throat.

"We're still going on the honeymoon," she tells him simply: "Brett says the tickets are non-refundable." She pulls back to look at him: "And you're okay, right?"

He nods, unable to trust his voice.

She blinks at him, her eyes searching and troubled. "Unless you want me to stay." When he still doesn't speak she asks him directly: "Do you need me to stay, Jack? Because I can. If that's what you want, I'll stay."

He shakes his head. And even though it's the opposite of what he wants, he hears himself say: "No. No, you should go. Go, Lemon."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

She gives a little shrug: "Brett says we can get married over there, maybe. Neither of us wanted to make a big deal of it, so…"

"Well." Jack clears his dry throat, willing it to do something – anything -- to stop her. He carefully tucks a curl of hair behind her ear, wishing he didn't sound quite so convincing when he says: "I will be sorry…not to be there…to see it."

Her eyes drop away from his as she withdraws into a sitting position. "I s'pose we had a trial run today. So hopefully next time, I won't get cold feet."

He practically pounces on her words. "Do you have cold feet, Lemon?"

"Not anymore," she answers glibly, kicking her feet back and forth over the side of the bed: "Brett says it's normal. You know…because I've never been married before."

"Well, Brett would know," Jack replies, unable to keep a little of the bitterness from his tone: "He has done this twice already."

"I've decided that's a good thing," she says with a little nod: "We won't make the same mistakes as his previous marriages. We'll learn from his experiences…That's the plan, at least."

"I wish you all the luck in the world," he tells her warmly: "I really do."

Liz smiles, her voice quiet. "Thanks, Jack. Well…I should go, probably. Let you rest."

"When do you fly out?" he asks, feeling his heart rate pick up, his chance slipping away.

"Not til tonight," she replies then starts to turn away: "I can call you when we get there, though."

"Wait, Lemon. Before you go--" He sits up in bed and scoots closer to her.

"What?"

His eyes run over her face. "Do I get to kiss the bride?"

Her mouth curls up in one corner, her expression baffled: "Do you…_want_ to kiss the bride, Jack?"

"I'd like to, yes." He gives a solemn nod: "With your permission, of course."

"Uh…well. Okay…" She shrugs, eyeing him oddly: "I guess that's…a thing. Isn't it?"

"It certainly is." He places two fingers under her chin, drawing her face closer. "It's tradition."

Her eyes are wide, watching his every move. Her voice shakes a little as she murmurs: "Right, of course. So traditionally -- 'cause I don't know -- is it, like…on the cheek, the forehead? Or when you say kiss, do you mean a real--?"

He cuts her off with his mouth, nudging her lips in a soft, chaste kiss. Her eyelids flutter closed for the brief moment their mouths make contact, then they open again as he pulls back, gaze fixed on hers. She blinks, her chest expanding a little faster than normal.

"Kiss," she finishes softly. And then: "Never mind."

For a moment afterwards, neither of them moves or speaks. Her eyes are steady, but uncertain on his, swirling with differing emotions. His fingers graze her chin. And, as this is the best way he can currently think of to tell her what he really wants, to make her understand what he's always wanted, he starts to cup her jaw, starts to lean in again.

Liz retreats. Only slightly, but enough to make him stop. She cuts her eyes to his heart monitor, beeping rather tellingly in the background. "I think you'd better cool it," she warns and gives a nervous little chuckle: "I don't want to be held responsible for giving you another cardiac event."

He smirks hopefully at her: "Actually, I think that did my poor heart the world of good." He leans toward her, hoping to regain the moment.

But she retreats further, one hand pressed gently against his chest. "Jack--" Her eyes are apologetic, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment: "This is…not you. This is the drugs talking. And…doing other things."

He shakes his head. "Lemon--"

"Come on--" she urges, and quickly hops off the bed: "Lie back. You need to relax. Save some of that business for all the pretty nurses."

"Lemon--"

She presses him back into his pillow, gently but resolutely. "I want you to take care, okay? Take it easy, and I will call you. I promise."

"Liz--"

She raises the barrier between them. Then she shoots him a grin: "And with any luck," she says, lifting one hand in the air: "there'll be a ring on this finger when I return."

He opens his mouth to speak.

"And, yes, I know--" she interjects with a roll of her eyes: "you don't need to say it -- it's about damn time."

She curls her hand over his arm again, gazing down at him for a moment with her familiar brown eyes. Jack reaches out to put his hand over hers, to capture her wrist -- to delay her, to hold her, keep her. But Liz moves away and he only manages to graze her skin with his fingertips as she goes. She becomes a blur again as she heads for the door, her footsteps slow. Her outline turns at the door, glancing back at him before softly closing the door behind her.

Jack can hear her heels echoing down the hallway and away from him. Each step seems like a minute in his life. A minute he'll never get back. Slowly, he draws in a breath, then releases it. Then, gazing up at the also blurred ceiling, he mutters to the empty, white room:

"I adore you."

He closes his eyes briefly. Then opens them to tell the ceiling:

"Please don't marry him."

Nothing but silence greets his words.

That and the continuing beep of his heartbeat. The green peaks continue to track across the monitor beside him. His head continues to spin unmercifully. His eyelashes dip heavily over his cheeks. His mouth tastes like purple. And his bones still ache with guilt, with regret.

Minutes pass. Tortuously slow.

Then, high heels start to echo again on the hard hospital flooring. This time, in his direction, back towards him. He hears them as if in slow motion. As if every lost minute was returning. As if he was getting a second chance at what should have been his very last shot. His heavy head lifts from the pillow. And then, as though summoned by his words, Liz hurries back into the room. She flings open the door and comes closer, until he can see her again. Her face is anxious, searching, and for a moment he actually expects her to throw herself into his arms.

Instead, she mutters: "Hey, sorry. Did I drop my necklace in here?"

Jack gazes up at her, stupefied.

"Oh, there it is--" She slips a hand over the barrier and retrieves something from his sheets. Then she ducks her head as she re-fastens her 'L' pendant around her neck. "Must have come off when I hugged you." She smiles at him as she pats the trinket back into place. Then she stops, frowning worriedly, her hand dropping to rest on the hospital bed barrier. "Are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Jack continues to stare.

Her brow collapses. She casts a glance at his heart monitor. "Jack? Can you hear me? Can you say something...?" She leans in closer: "Hey. Say something, Jack."

He does. Finally. He finds her hand with his. Clasps it tight. And one word escapes his mouth.

"Stay."

_END._


End file.
